After school yesterday, a student and I decorated a bulletin board outside my classroom with copies of last year's literary journal, hoping to get some students interested in submitting work for this year's edition.
As we left, we wondered how long it would be before someone walked past, took a swipe, and tore down the hanging journals, which were arranged three-dimensionally with pages folded open and other journals hanging from a string. "I think they'll stay up maybe fifteen minutes into first period," he said.
"I agree," I agreed.
Well, no one tore down the display, proving once again that the majority of teenagers are not destructive (although maybe it just proves that they totally ignored our bulletin board). But I know that at least one student realized it was there.
"Hey, my poem's in there," one of my fourth period students said proudly as she walked into the room.
"Excellent," I said. "Are you going to submit some work for this year's journal?"
"I don't think so," she said. "I don't feel inspirated."
"You don't feel inspired?" I said, feeling like a parent correcting a toddler.
"Yeah, for some reason, I don't feel inspirated."